


Piety

by PepperPrints



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:04:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now, you needed to go back to the very start, and learn all over again what it meant to be grateful to your God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piety

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rather old thing I wrote. I never posted it due to the oddity of the pairing, but I still like it, so here it is.

You were here because you made a very grave mistake.

 

Another person would tell you that it was out of your hands, as God's work tended to be, but that sort of person was never as intimately close to their God as you were to yours.

 

Yours nagged you and belittled you until you gave into his demands to cross the ocean and land in this continent, to get back to your roots. Khonshu was a fickle, jealous bitch; a lover that kicked you out of bed until you made amends for all your wrongs, and no little sacrifice would do this time, oh no, because your sins were too grave. Now, you needed to go back to the very start, and learn all over again what it meant to be grateful to your God.

 

You would have been very grateful if your God could have at least kept the plane in the air.

 

You crashed, you and the pilot who barely spoke any English but knew enough to not ask questions when you gave him enough cash. It hadn't been enough money, however, to give you the courtesy of knowing there was only parachute when the plane started going down, and how he was going to be the one taking it.

 

You fell, and you fought with the controls as you did, with your God hissing in your ear about what a shame it was that you never really learned to pilot yourself, always relying on someone else like Frenchie. Perhaps this was part of your punishment. Did Khonshu want you entirely alone? It didn't matter much. They had all left you anyway.

 

And that was the thought that lingered most when the plane went down.

 

You knew you weren't dead because of how much pain you felt. You have been in worse condition, but that didn't make feeling it any better.

 

 _No white light for you_ , crooned Khonshu in your ear, a little bird sitting hunched on your shoulder, and now you certainly knew you weren't dead. _No_ _Randall waiting at the gate._

 

You winced when you tried to rise up, and a firm hand shoved you down, a voice muttering something in a language you didn't understand. _I like her_ , came an impressed little praise that you half tuned out. You didn't speak whatever language this was, but the intent came through eventually: these women were getting whoever was in charge, and you weren't dead yet, but chances are this boss could decide otherwise.

 

A deeper voice joined the others, and you tried to calm the rattling in your brain before its owner began to address you, but you didn't quite succeed.

 

“Who are you?”

 

 _Good question_ , Khonshu crooned in a laugh, the sound more like cawing in your ears, and you winced against it.

 

But who were you, really? Marc Spector? Yes, a stupid trip like this in a half broken plane sounded like that brash mercenary. Jake Lockley? He'd never leave New York; nowhere that his cab couldn't take him. Steven Grant? Good luck flying him anywhere but first class.

 

Your mouth was dry, your throat hoarse, but you managed a reply:

 

“Moon Knight.”

 

It wasn't a pretty sound, but you were far from a pretty person.

 

There was a beat of silence, perhaps someone trying to decipher if the name had any meaning, before that deep, rumbling voice spoke again.

 

“Moon Knight,” it greeted. “Welcome to Wakanda.”

 

You froze, going very still, and Khonshu crowed with laughter.

 

_Oh my, aren't you in trouble now!_

 

Not that you were in any condition to do anything about it for quite some time. You moved in and out of consciousness, aware enough that your body was being tended to, and you were being talked about. You were aware of the women who changed your bandages, fed you little bits of water and broth, and of the Black Panther, who spoke with them – asking of your condition, you presumed – or sometimes just came and observed. You knew he did, somehow, even when he did not speak a word. There was a presence to him, and he wasn't the only one to notice it.

 

 _So powerful_ , Khonshu observed with a longing sort of sigh, _and look at the honor his God receives!_

 

You couldn't properly shun the remark, but you scowled in your sleep and made an internal list of all the ways that the Black Panther was a far cry from what Khonshu wanted. No matter. Khonshu was a child God, and a child he would remain.

 

It was hard to gauge the time, but when you woke up, you were not alone. Maybe with watching your condition, they were able to guess when you would be alert again – or maybe the Panther was waiting this entire time.

 

“Good morning,” he greeted, hard to read behind the mask. He was dressed in his full garb, high collar, with gold around his neck and on the tips of his fingers. “How are you feeling?”

 

You were in too much pain to care about courtesy, so “like shit” seemed to be the only true and respectable answer. Even through the mask, you could tell it made the Panther smile, so perhaps that was good enough.

 

“And you look it,” he agreed, rising from the chair in which he had been seated. “But you also look well enough to answer some questions.”

 

“Wasn't aiming for Wakanda,” you said immediately, knowing how well this place took to outsiders, and the Panther raised a gloved hand.

 

“I determined that much,” he said, “we found your pilot a few miles out.” To this, Khonshu also gave a laugh, and you were half tempted to join in yourself. It served him damn right, after pulling a stunt like that.

 

“I have some questions for you, Moon Knight,” he continued, and the title did not give you pause. “And I would like to ask them elsewhere. Are you up for a walk?”

 

After spending this damn long in bed, you were up for going anywhere else. Your nod gave the Panther a grin, and he drew out a folded robe from the table behind him.

 

“I will give you the privacy to change,” he said. “Your other clothing survived the crash, but with too many holes to remain decent, I'm afraid.” You reached out to accept the offering, and you found yourself stilled by the softness of the robe, which was a rich, deep shade of blue. “My apologies, that we did not have one in white.”

 

You did have something in white yourself, but it likely went down with the rest of the plane. You missed it instinctively as you dressed, this clothing feeling similar yet not enough to be entirely comfortable. In honesty, you felt a little foolish, still not too steady on your feet, and the crows from Khonshu's beak were far from encouraging.

 

 _I could help, if you were more deserving_ , he remarked, that and other such comments which you were better off not listening to, but could not help when you were the only one to hear them.

 

The Panther came back, but not as the Panther. He was dressed similarly to the garb he had given you, and he was smiling faintly. His robe was different, wrapped over only one shoulder, exposing more dark skin and strong pectoral muscle. It wasn't a conscious choice, most likely, but it drew your stare nonetheless.

 

“Come then,” invited the Panther, his hand extended. “Let me show you Wakanda.”

 

It was indeed a sight which you appreciated. You certainly stood out, and whether you received those looks because you were a foreigner, or you were with the king (or perhaps both) was unclear. You had been kept in a deeper part of the palace, tended to by royal physicians, and now you strode out, getting a personal tour from the Panther himself. He did not speak much, really, apart from when you looked particularly interested in something.

 

Like the Panther statue out in front of the palace.

 

“Do you like that?” the Panther asked, and you hardly needed to answer. Your hand reached out, settling on the base, near one clawed foot, and Khonshu fluttered on mangled little wings to sit on your knuckles.

 

 _I know I like it_ , said Khonshu, round red eyes staring up at you. _Look at what his God receives! And I only have that dusty old statue that you've lost and beaten how many times? I think I'm owed a little!_

 

“Careful, Khonshu,” you said, voice quiet and threatening, “Panthers eat little birds.”

 

“Beg your pardon?”

 

You lifted your head, finding the Panther looking at you with curious eyes, and you frowned. “Nothing,” you replied, and the Panther seemed skeptical about believing you. Let him think what he wanted.

 

The Panther gestured with his hand, and you followed his lead, sitting at the base of the statue. He leaned back, looking relaxed and comfortable, but you were still sore and bitter. “I've looked into your history,” he remarked, lounging slightly, and you thought he did look like a great, powerful cat, comfortable and satisfied. “You were trying to reach Egypt because of your God, weren't you?”

 

 _My but he's clever_ , Khonshu commented, and you ignored it. The only purpose of it was to anger you, to inspire jealousy. “I think it's obvious,” you replied, and the Panther inclined his head in agreement.

 

“There are easier ways, you know,” he replied, with vagueness that gave you pause.

 

“To Egypt?” you asked, and the Panther gave you a look.

 

 _My but you're slow,_ Khonshu crowed, and you couldn't ignore it when it was entirely accurate.

 

“Do I call you Moon Knight?” the Panther asked, and you stiffened slightly. It wasn't best that he did, exactly, but you didn't know what to offer in its place. You didn't feel like Marc Spector, or Jake Lockley, and you certainly were not Steven Grant.

 

“If I call you Black Panther,” you responded in kind.

 

At that, the Panther shook his head slightly, and he began to rise up to his feet. “I wonder, if you're feeling up to it, if you would like to hunt with me,” he offered, and you found yourself taken off guard. The offer seemed... intimate, and you are not certain enough of the customs here in this place to be sure you won't make a mistake.

 

 _Maybe you should say no_ , Khonshu suggested, making himself comfortable in the folds of your robes. _You're awful weak in the knees still, so many bumps and bruises..._

 

“When?” you asked instead, immediately urged on from Khonshu's taunt, “I'm ready anytime.”

 

And you knew you would regret it.

 

The next morning was the date you decided on, and you spent the night staring up at the ceiling of your room – a much more plush one, instead of the sick bed they had you in before – unable to sleep for the thoughts that buzzed in your brain.

 

 _So proud_ , sighed Khonshu, who wasn't helping with how little you could sleep. _You're going to regret it when the Panther makes a fool out of you. Maybe if you ask nicely enough, on your knees with your groveling tongue, I'll give you a hand._

 

You threw your arm over your face, blocking it out, but it was impossible to silence a voice that was in your head. “Shut up,” you whispered at an empty room, and you tried to think about the hunt, which details you should have asked about.

 

_Maybe you won't be hunting animals. Maybe he'll be hunting you._

 

You rolled over, taking the pillow from underneath your head and throwing it on top instead. It was a childish response, and Khonshu gave a burst of giddy laughter.

 

You were almost certain that the Panther God was never so unkind.

 

It might have been something you asked about, but when the time came and you found the Panther again, your mind was elsewhere. His garb was different here, the cloak and ornamental gold from before absent. You assumed easily that was the more regal look, and not the sort of uniform meant for what you intended to do today.

 

“I have something for you,” the Panther said, and he held out something you recognized too well. “It was a bit torn in your crash, but we were able to repair it.”

 

You took the cloak into your hands, and it was hard to imagine that there had been any damage at all. Not a single seam was visible, and it looked perhaps even in better condition than when you had even stepped onto the plane.

 

 _A proper priest looks after his vestments_ , chirped Khonshu, and you scowled.

 

“I'm not a priest.” you muttered, loudly enough for the Panther to catch it.

 

“Did you speak?” he asked, and you glanced up at him, lips set to a frown.

 

“Not important,” you insisted, and after a moment, you continued. “...thanks.”

 

Again you were given the privacy to dress yourself, and this felt far more natural. The cowl hid your face, and you believed yourself to be a little more even with the Panther now. He looked pleased at the sight of you regardless, his expressions still somehow visible even behind his mask, and he gestured with two fingers.

 

“We will go, then, if you are ready,” he offered and you nodded.

 

The entire trip was taken by foot, and your legs started to feel like jelly about halfway there, reminding you of how much you longed to be back in the bed you had too easily shunned. The combination of your lingering aches and the heat were taking their toll. The Panther seemed to note the lag in your pace, but he did not make a remark. It was a respectful silence, you supposed, but it still stung beneath your skin. The Panther didn't seem bothered in the slightest, even by the weather, though you guessed he was used to it.

 

“Isn't it hot?” you asked, sounding more breathless than you had wanted to betray, nodding towards him, and resisting the urge to throw your hood and cowl back. “All that black?”

 

You could hear the smile in the Panther's voice. “You see--” he began, but he cut himself short, a hand raising and touching your chest. It was a warning gesture, holding you back, but his palm lay across the crescent moon, and you were not certain whether it was purposeful. “Be still.”

 

There was a rustling among the trees, and what descended was no stranger to Wakanda's king. The panther looked up at the Panther, tail swishing and gold eyes bright. The sight was... unique, and you couldn't puzzle out what kind of blessing bound the Panther to these beasts so entirely.

 

“No matter,” said the Panther as he recognized his own, and he dropped his hand, “it won't strike.”

 

You severely doubted that, since the cat was creeping closer to you, its lips pulled back and teeth bared. It wouldn't strike the Panther, you believed that firmly, but didn't think it would be so kind to you.

 

 _What was that you said?_ Khonshu asked, a little chirp against his ear. _About panthers and little birds?_

 

“Panthers eat little birds,” you replied, barely conscious of having spoken, and the Panther turned back towards you as you began to back away.

 

For every step you took back, the panther moved forward, and the Panther followed in kind. “Moon Knight?” he asked, and when the beast began to growl, his voice turned more stern as well. “Trust me and be still.”

 

You weren't sure you could, honestly. You could have blamed the heat and the weakness in your body for the mild delirium, but you hardly were aware of yourself.

 

And was that anything new? You didn't even know who you were. And did you even have an answer now?

 

Marc Spector, Jake Lockely, or Steven Grant? Mercenary, man of the street, or millionaire?

 

“Moon Knight!” the Panther called, and you obediently went still.

 

Yes. Moon Knight.

 

The panther has crept up now, its growling a deep rumble, and you remained where you were. You stayed still when it sniffed, its head butting against your hip, and only moved for a shudder when the slow, wet slide of its tongue came against your forearm.

 

Seeming satisfied, the panther turned back towards the one who wore its name. It rumbled, nudging against his leg in turn, and allowing one gloved hand to stroke down the length of its back as it passed. The jungle rustled a little as it crept back into hiding, and then the were no more sounds, a silent predator back in its element.

 

The Panther turned back to you, and you heard his chuckle, rumbling in his chest like the cat's growls. “Was that so bad?”

 

Not really, was the response you had intended, but you didn't get the chance. The heat became too much, and you collapsed again.

 

 _Oh yes, blame the weather!_ And you couldn't tell if that was Khonshu or your own guilty conscience talking.

 

You had heat stroke once before, out in the desert, and Frenchie had to carry you while Bushman laughed and laughed about it, about how he knew a spoiled boy like you wouldn't last out here.

 

When you woke, you expected to see the doctors again. Instead, you were still in that plush guest room, and the Panther was seated beside your bed. It was impossible to tell how long he had been there, but certainly long enough to fall asleep where he sat. You propped yourself up on your elbows, getting a proper look at him.

 

You never liked cats, but you knew enough to recognize that the Panther really did look like one as he slept, even without his costume. His presence was muted, still present like an aura, though he seemed more tangible, more human. Looking at him, breathing slowly with his chin dropped down to his chest, you half expected to hear him purring.

 

You never liked cats.

 

Moving slowly, you made your way to the edge of the bed. His ears were as sharp as an animal's as well since he stirred awake, blinking at you. For an instant, you saw his eyes as gold, like the panther in the jungle, and then it was gone. It could not have been real. You must have imagined it.

 

It would not have been anything new.

 

The Panther stretched, once again looking feline, and your posture hunched as you sat in your bed. “How are you feeling?” the Panther asked, and he slowly smiled. “Like shit?”

 

His grin was infectious, and you shared it after only a brief resistance. “Only a little,” you replied, and the Panther chuckled softly.

 

 _Aw, look at the two of you_ , drawled Khonshu, and you found yourself in no mood. You grabbed your pillow and shoved it on top of Khonshu, hoping that the little bird would smother.

 

The Panther inclined his head and arched a brow, watching the gesture with obvious curiosity. He did not ask, and you did not provide any explanation.

 

You rubbed a hand over the back of your neck, and your sore shoulder, and your gaze turned back on the Panther. “You remember before, when we were talking at the statue?” you asked, and continued when the Panther nodded. “You said... there are easier ways. What did you mean?”

 

“Why, the road to Egypt,” replied the Panther, sounding smug and playful. “You certainly picked the hardest way. I could recommend countless preferable means to travel...”

 

Even under the pillow, you could hear Khonshu's cawing laugh. Yes, the Panther was teasing now: a cat batting a bird between its paws, taking advantage of a wounded wing.

 

The mockery did not last, and the Panther soon turned serious. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and threading his fingers together. “You did this all in the name of your God,” he said, and his voice was quieter, more solemn. “And you did not need to.”

 

You began to speak, but the Panther raised his hand, stilling the interruption. “I believe you were looking for peace, am I correct?” he asked, and you thought about that one. Peace... well, maybe some semblance of it. You shrugged, and nodded. “But you were not doing so in your own pursuit to please yourself. You were instead pursuing to please your God.”

 

 _Is there a difference?_ Came Khonshu's muffled inquiry, and you reached back to push down a little harder on the pillow. You wanted to give the Panther your full attention.

 

“I believe the reason you struggle so, is because you deny yourself,” he continued. “You sacrifice your wants and needs for those of your God – and that is not devotion, that is degradation.

 

“It is a careful barrier,” the Panther said, lifting to his feet, “but even a God can be wrong, and that defiance is more important than any blind obedience.”

 

You were quiet, realizing you weren't capable of replying. There was nothing on your lips, nothing in your mind. More shockingly, Khonshu was silent too.

 

“It's still late, and you are tired,” the Panther said. “I will leave you to recover.”

 

Even if you were exhausted, your reflexes did not suffer for it. You snatched the Panther's wrist, stilling him before he could go. “Black Panther,” you said, very firmly as you tightened your grip. “Stay.”

 

The Panther smiled, and he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “T'Challa will do,” he replied.

 

T'Challa. You thought about that, and you hesitated. It would have seemed fair to respond in kind with your own name, to allow the Panther something more intimate, and yet you still didn't have an answer for him.

 

“Marc,” you said stupidly, finally blurting the name, and it made T'Challa laugh. Again the sound rumbled from his chest, almost feline, and he shook his head.

 

“Good,” T'Challa said with obvious approval, “for a moment, I thought you lost yourself.”

 

Almost did, you thought, but didn't voice.


End file.
